


Then, and Now

by Nightsister



Category: Spartacus Series (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fashion & Models, Angst with a Happy Ending, Breaking Up & Making Up, Canon Gay Relationship, Duro Lives, Epic Fail, M/M, Mentions of RL people, Nagron Week 2014
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-03-26
Updated: 2014-03-27
Packaged: 2018-01-17 01:52:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 6,550
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1369513
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nightsister/pseuds/Nightsister
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Agron found himself sitting alone in a hotel room in Rome one night, thinking, "What the fuck did I just do?" </p>
<p>Even worse, now here he was eight months later, flying with Duro to Los Angeles of all the fucking insipid places, to once again work with the love of his life, the love that he had thrown away.</p>
<p>Yeah, this was going to suck hard.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Now

**Author's Note:**

> I fail so much at this. I wanted to submit this yesterday as part of Nagron Week 2014 on Tumblr (http://nagronweek.tumblr.com/) but of course I'm not even finished with this first one. (But I will be, I promise.) 
> 
> I haven't published anything in a very long time and never in this fandom and worse, this hasn't seen a beta (oh god just please bear with me) so if there are any glaring or bizarro errors please point them out. Also, I can't think that there's anything triggery here but I personally don't have many triggers so again, contact me if you see something or if you'd like to know stuff ahead of time. There are accusations of infidelity here (didn't happen) and the language is typical with what you'd hear on the show.
> 
> One final thing! There's one French phrase that I shamelessly lifted from Teen Wolf that I thought was appropriate for Agron and Nasir. If you watch TW you'll know what I mean. :)

“Blah blah standard contract blah both of… _mon Frères Barbares_ , not that shit again, seriously? Blah blah Nasir- fuck. No. No fucking way.”

Agron scowled at his laptop and turned to his brother, who was holding up his cellphone. “Mira, when you said you had a gig for us, you were supposed to have my fucking back.”

Mira’s huff of annoyance was clearly audible, even over the tiny speakers. “Agron, I’m your manager. This is what you pay me to do. And this job literally landed in your lap. Olivier Lalanne _himself_ asked for you! You want me to say no? To _him_? It’s not a fucking drugstore rag, this is _Vogue_ , you ass-”

“We’ll do it!” Duro interjected, holding his brother back with one arm as he held the phone up and away with the other, out of Agron’s grasping reach. “Ow, stop!” He jumped up out of his chair and moved the phone to his ear, turning off the speaker function. “Yeah, we’ll sign it now and send it back to you. Thanks, Mira. Yeah, I know. Yeah. YES. Okay! Right. Bye-” He stared at his screen and turned to glare at his brother. “You piss her off and she hangs up on me.” He cocked his head and stared off into the distance, tapping a finger against his chin, eyes narrowed.

“I can literally see the gears in your head moving. You’re going to try to come at me from a different angle but it’s not going to work,” Agron accused his brother.

Duro shrugged and gave a lopsided grin, but he moved closer and placed a hand on Agron’s shoulder, squeezing lightly. “Yeah, I am and yeah, it will,” he said. He added gently, “Listen, brother. I know you can be professional about this, right? This is a huge deal, we haven’t worked together in months, not since…” he trailed off, as if suddenly realizing that where he was leading wasn’t going to strengthen his argument. “Shit. Nevermind that. Just… can we? Please? I swear I will be with you the whole fucking shoot. We’ll do this quick, all professional-like, and you can act like a whiny toddler all you want on the way home.” He tried for puppy eyes, which he knew made him look slightly demented, but he was hoping for laughter anyway so fuck it. “It’ll be fine. Okay?”

Agron hung his head and breathed deep, once, then breathed again. 

“Fuck.” 

With a grimace, he pushed Duro’s hand off his shoulder, pulled his laptop closer, and started jabbing at the keyboard, two fingers typing furiously. “FINE. There, happy?” He shoved the laptop over to his brother, who leaned over and calmly added his own electronic signature to the contract. 

“Very happy, you big baby. Now send it,” Duro said, then frowned. “No, gimme. I’ll do it. I don’t trust you.” He grabbed the machine and opened up a browser and started clicking and typing away, more comfortable than he should be on a computer that wasn’t his own. Agron watched in defeat as his brother emailed the contract back to their manager. 

“Okay, done,” Duro said, looking up in triumph. His grin faded as he took in his big brother’s sulky expression. “Oh no, come ON. No pouty face! This is a great gig with even greater money! All those Condé Nast guys are cool; when I shot for GQ in Japan, that was fucking awesome, right?”

The thing was, the pay for this job would definitely be excellent, although it wasn’t about the money. Duro was pretty much THE wunderkind bad boy flavor of the moment and was happily riding the wave of his good fortune for as long as people wanted him, and Agron, being the more reticent (or reluctant, depending on who you talked to) of the two, was content and financially comfortable enough now to take a job only when Mira or his brother nagged him into doing it. Of course the big money came when they shot together - they didn’t do it often so the notoriety of using them in the same photoshoot meant they could command a good price. And Vogue Hommes International would pay a very good price, indeed. Agron and Duro made a good pair and they complimented each other, both physically and in temperament. It was a decent life. 

But it had been an even better life when Nasir Kabbani had been in it. And since Agron, in his typical, blustery fashion, had committed the most boneheaded and nonsensical act he’d ever committed by breaking up with him, he was pretty certain that that chapter of his life was over, especially since he hadn’t talked to his ex in nearly eight months. But now Olivier fucking Lalanne, editor-in-chief of the very magazine where Nasir worked, had booked the fucking _Frères Barbares_ , and his favorite staff photographer was slated to work with them.

Even with the pay Agron still wasn’t sure if it would be worth it, no matter what Duro thought. Agron just knew this was going to suck.


	2. Then, and Now

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A bit of background.

The very first time Agron and Duro Schaefer did a shoot together for Vogue Hommes International, the very first time they had done any modeling at all, Nasir Kabbani had been their photographer. Olivier Lalanne claimed credit for discovering them (and for giving them that ridiculous _Barbarian Brothers_ nickname), of course, but in the captions accompanying the photos, he'd been sure to include the story of how his photographer and his unconventional model had met. He had even flamboyantly included the phrase _coup de foudre_ , which was ironically more truth than exaggeration. 

Nasir had been on holiday in the UK attending the Reading Festival, which Agron and Duro were working as part of the security team. Nasir always said he’d seen Agron first, but all Agron knew was that as he stood watching the growing mass of people from his vantage point in front of the stage, something had compelled him to move over to the right, just a smidge, where he caught his first glimpse of the most beautiful man he had ever seen. And that man was staring back.

After that it had only been a matter of minutes as Agron waved him over, never taking his eyes off the other man for a second, until his walking wet dream managed to make his way to the front. (Thank the fucking gods The Architects were having trouble with their set up and delaying the start of the main stage.) The next hours were both divine and tortuous. The beautiful man was named Nasir, and he was a photographer for some high-end magazine in Paris. By the end of the night Duro had somehow been able to score an all-access photographer’s pass for the entire festival, despite the fact that Nasir hadn’t applied for one, and they were able to be together for the whole weekend, although their nights were sadly spent apart; Agron had one night shift and he and Duro had a hotel room nearby, while Nasir had rented a podpad. Their days were filled with talk - about the music and the festival, naturally, but also about family, sports, politics, beer vs. wine, their favorite comfort foods, the best way to take down drunken unruly concertgoers, how Nasir’s camera worked - they went through it all. They were fascinated with each other, instantly smitten, and both men knew that they were starting something extraordinary.

It wasn’t until after the festival when they were finally fully able to act on their feelings, though, as Nasir cancelled his reservation at his hotel and spent the entire rest of his holiday at Agron and Duro’s little flat in London. To this day, Agron was still willing to admit that those heady few days were some of the best moments of his life. And those moments were captured, for posterity alone Agron had originally thought, by Nasir's ever-present camera. What Agron hadn't realized was just how good his new lover was at his craft, just how beautifully he had caught all those mundane, domestic flashes in time: Agron, still sleepy-eyed and hair-mussed, smirking as he chewed on the last piece of toast while Duro looked on in baleful annoyance, his hands wrapped around a chipped mug that had Hello Kitty hugging a teddy bear (a gag gift from their cousin Saxa but well loved nonetheless); Agron napping on the couch in worn sweatpants and nothing else, fingers suggestively curled around his crotch; Duro exultant and raising a fist in triumph as Agron stared murderously at the Xbox controller gripped in his large hands. Agron lying in bed, his body barely concealed by a thin, worn sheet and his _Put the camera down now so we can fuck_ leer in full, proud display.

But the shot that had captured the attention of Nasir’s boss (for he eventually saw most of Nasir’s photos, as all of the production department was abuzz over “Nasir’s weeklong hookup”) was the one that Agron hadn’t known about at all.

It had been Nasir’s last night and Duro had prodded them into going out for a nice dinner in an actual restaurant, since Agron and Nasir barely left Agron’s bedroom for five whole days, much less the flat. The three were rushing to make their reservation, and Agron had just finished yelling at Duro to _hurry the fuck up and let me in the shower, you fucker_. They were brothers and they were comfortable with each other, that was very certain, and playing sports in their not too distant youth and growing up in a small house and now in a flat always sharing intimate spaces meant that nudity was never an issue.

Nasir caught his watershed moment completely by accident: he knew Agron was walking into the bathroom nude and had wanted a rear shot - he was only human, after all, and the view of Agron from the back was magnificent. What Nasir hadn’t counted on was Duro walking out, one hand holding the towel around his waist. He’d taken one look at Nasir behind the lens, grinned, and dipped his towel, tantalizingly showing a bit more of than just the hair leading down from his navel. Agron had caught the movement and at the same time had turned his head, as if to yell at his brother. The dichotomy of the snarl on Agron’s face combined with his nude body and his younger brother’s look of _Yeah, you want this_ made for a surprisingly arresting shot, and the production manager at Vogue Hommes International was immediately hooked. And of course more so was the editor-in-chief, once he’d seen the photo and heard the story. Thus, _les Frères Barbares_ had been born, for better or for worse.

Getting the brothers to agree to the first photoshoot had been as pleasant and as easy as performing surgery on yourself, even with all the money the magazine had virtually thrown at them. It had finally taken the written promise that Nasir would do the shoot, and the chance to see him again (it was hard to tell who was suffering more in the weeks following Nasir’s departure, Agron for missing his lover or Duro for putting up with his brother’s surliness and his moping and the 3am phone calls when Nasir was traveling for work) that had Agron signing the contract. 

Meeting Mira Torelli right afterward had been a godsend. A former colleague and friend of Nasir’s, she now booked job after job for Duro, who exploded onto the fashion scene with a vengeance, even walking in New York and London for a few up and coming designers. Agron had been tougher to work with, initially only wanting jobs in close proximity to where Nasir was, but eventually she’d been able to get him to accept more assignments with the idea that the more money he made, the more he’d be able to travel to meet Nasir whenever he wanted. Nasir also traveled back to London as much as he could and they’d made it work for a while, and it was good. Very, very good. Agron had went for it all in his usual style of reckless abandon, heady with the rush of love and the realization that he now had the means to get what he wanted. And oh how he had _wanted_. 

But then of course it had inevitably ended, like all good rides must, and Agron and Nasir's relationship imploded in a spectacular fashion, thanks in no small part to Agron’s raging insecurities and possessiveness and Nasir’s refusal to tolerate even an ounce of his lover’s bullshit, and Agron found himself sitting alone in a hotel room in Rome one night, thinking _What the fuck did I just do?_ Even worse, now here he was eight months later, flying with Duro to Los Angeles of all the fucking insipid places, to once again work with the love of his life, the love that he had thrown away.

Yeah, this was going to suck hard.


	3. Now

Agron peered out of his hotel room window down onto the busy street below. The Hollywood Roosevelt was right in the middle of the action, “the middle” meaning the tourist-heavy purgatory known as Hollywood Boulevard, right across from famous Chinese Theatre. Los Angeles was a strange place to him, sunny and warm and beautiful and completely void of any personality except for the sheerest superficial layer. It was the perfect place for modeling, he mused.

The rattling of the door dragged him out of his thoughts as Duro strolled in, laden with several plastic bags. “Cobb salad, no cheese, no bacon, no joy whatsoever, with a side of grilled chicken and extra avocado,” he sang out, swinging the bag down onto the table with a flourish. “Hawaiian pizza with extra pineapple for me.” He frowned at Agron’s continued silence. “No, none of that,” he tsked, pulling out containers and plastic utensils and bottles of water, “You had half the morning and all afternoon to get over your jetlag and we don’t have to go out tonight - you’re a big buzzkill before a shoot anyway, so I-”

“Fuck you, it’s not that,” Agron said, sighing. He sat, opened his container of salad, and dipped a finger into the smaller container of salad dressing. He couldn’t taste anything; he hoped he hadn’t caught anything on the plane ride over. Getting sick in a foreign country was hell.

“That’s just plain olive oil and vinegar,” Duro pointed out, taking the container from him. “Fucking A, man, do I have to do everything?” He closed the lid and shook the entire thing vigorously before handing it back. “Maybe you should go to sleep right after dinner. Are you feeling all right?” He moved to lay a palm over Agron’s forehead but Agron pushed him away, scowling.

“I’m fine. I mean physically, I’m fine.” Agron sighed again and poured a bit of his now properly mixed dressing over his salad. “I dunno, I guess the thought of what’s going to happen tomorrow is freaking me out a little. Did you forget the pepper again?”

Duro threw several small white paper packets in Agron’s direction as he kicked off his shoes and made himself comfortable on the bed. “Here. No wait, throw one back, I need it.” Opening his pizza box, he inhaled greedily. “Oh yeah, carb and fat bomb before a high profile photo shoot. Live dangerous, baby.”

Agron grinned. “You’re a moron.” He picked at his greens a bit before finally spearing a piece of chicken. “You can go out, I mean don’t stay in on my account,” he said. “They must be here already. I just, you know… ”

“Ah yeah, well.” Duro looked sheepish as he ripped open a pepper packet with his teeth and proceeded to dump its contents all over his pizza. “Naevia texted me when she checked in. Their block of rooms is facing the pool, though, and they’re on the seventh floor.”

Agron rubbed his face with his free hand, a sudden death grip on his fork in the other. “Who’s they? Duro, who’s here?”

“Would you relax?” Duro slumped and took another bite of his pizza, chewing slowly as he thought. “Um, Naevia’s doing the styling-”

“Holy shit will you swallow first before you talk?”

Duro immediately flipped his brother off but he swallowed his food and kept talking as if he’d never been interrupted. “Diona’s on hair and makeup, and Chadara’s running point, and some new little intern she’s got is assisting with the general crap. Oh, and Nasir, of course.” He brightened. “But you won’t see him if you don’t want to! I mean in the hotel, and if you pussy out and decide not to show up tonight-”

“Goddammit, Duro-”

Duro rolled his eyes. “Seriously, if you get over yourself and stop being such a dramatic weenie, and you want to meet us for beers or something - but only if you want, no pressure! - we’re all going down to that bowling alley place they have downstairs. They have a reservation at ten. If you wanna stop by. Which you don’t have to. Just so you know.”

“Oh god, please shut the fuck up,” Agron groaned. He ran his fingers through his hair, exasperated. “I’ll think about it, but I’m pretty beat. I’ll try though, okay?”

“Okay,” Duro said, nodding. He took another huge bite of pizza.

Agron never showed up.


	4. Now, Again

The next day, the first day of the two-day shoot, promised to be typical of Southern California: sunny, temperate, and dry. The dry was the most important part, as Nasir’s schedule called for some outdoor shots in the penthouse pool of the Mondrian hotel a couple of miles away in West Hollywood.

“Why couldn’t we just stay in the fucking Mondrian if we’re using their pool for the shoot?” Agron complained to his brother as he packed for the day.

Duro just grinned and dropped down on the bed, next to the pile of Agron’s clothes. “Fuck if I know,” he replied with a shrug. “The space for today’s shoot is cool, we were there last night. And Naevia loves this place, she said the bars and restaurants here are more chill. Gotta admit, that bowling alley they have downstairs is sweet. Hey, you think we could-”

“We’re not getting a bowling alley installed in the flat,” Agron said. He shoved more underwear into his day bag and snapped his fingers, trying to figure out if he forgot anything. “Shit, my flip flops… where’d we put a bowling alley, anyway - by the fucking toilet?”

“What the fuck are you talking about? I was gonna ask if you wanted to hang with us tonight?” Duro stared at his brother and then glanced down and pointed to an area on the floor near the bed. “Hey, your flip flops are right - no, there, there! By my bag! Holy shit just look, don’t try to find them with your feet, you goatfucker!” He huffed and bent over, shoving Agron’s foot aside to get at the shoes. “Christ, HERE.” As he stood he shoved the flips flops at his brother and caught the look on Agron’s face. “Oh my god, you ass.”

Agron grinned. “Got you to pick ‘em up for me, didn’t I?”

“Yeah yeah, you’re a genius,” Duro grumbled. “Come on, we’re late. We were supposed to be at the bar like five minutes ago.”

“Hey, you’re the diva supermodel, I’m blaming you,” Agron said with a smirk. He deftly stepped around Duro’s attempt to kick him and opened the door. “Let’s go, we’re late.”

Fortunately they weren’t too late. Unfortunately, Nasir was the first person Agron saw as he walked into the room.

Shit. SHIT.

With his hair pulled back into a ponytail, Nasir looked casual but still managed a calm elegance in his soft, worn jeans and a white Oxford with the sleeves folded up to just below his elbows to better show off a braided leather cuff on his right wrist. Nasir was… beautiful. As always. And like that first time long ago, he looked up and immediately locked eyes with Agron. Everything and everyone else in the room melted away as the two men stared at each other.

“Nasir, hey,” Duro said a little too brightly, jabbing Agron in the ribs with a finger to keep him moving. “Sorry we’re late. Hey, Naevia. Where do you want us. Agron? _Agron_.”

His face burning and his stomach in knots, Agron could only follow his brother toward the area set aside for styling and prep. The moment lost, Nasir had returned to his light gauge while a tiny brown-haired woman helped him set up his equipment.

“Hello, Naevia. You look great.”

Naevia reached up for a hug but her smile was strained. “Agron. You look good too. Feeling better? Duro said you were still pretty jetlagged last night.”

Duro turned to smile at him with wide eyes that said _Just go with my story_. Agron gave a weak chuckle. “Yeah, I always need a good night’s sleep after long plane rides. I’m fine now.”

“Well, Nasir said he was feeling kinda beat too when he cancelled last night so I was really hoping that you guys weren’t both coming down with something.” Naevia gave him a considering look. “Or you guys didn’t… you know… meet up last night?”

“What? No!” Agron felt his face flush and hoped the dark lighting of the bar covered it. “No,” he repeated, quietly. “I fucked that up a long time ago.”

Naevia couldn't hide her wince. “Oh, babe,” she said, shaking her head. “Wait, hold on, let me-” She rummaged through the clothes hanging from the portable racks and pulled out some shirts and pants. “Here,” she said, thrusting the clothes at Duro. “These are for you. Change over there. And you,” she turned back to the racks and expertly ran her fingers through the clothes, plucking her choices off the hangers. She gestured to Agron with her chin. “Come with me. You look smaller to me than the measurements I got; we might have to make some adjustments.

Agron shared a bemused look with his brother but dutifully followed Naevia over to a bright corner of the room, where a privacy screen had been set up. He silently and deftly changed out of his things and put on the clothes she handed over the top, admiring the cut of the shirt he would be modeling. “So whose clothes are these again?” he asked.

“Milia Taboon. They’re a new brother/sister design team,” Naevia said. She peeped around the screen and gave Agron a once over. “Oh, not bad at all. Wait, I don’t like the way the pants hang. Did you bring a belt?” At Agron’s nod, she ran to get his backpack and handed it over. “So,” she said, as Agron started working his belt through the pant loops. “What’s been going on with you? I haven’t seen you in ages.”

“That’s because you always work with Nasir,” Agron said, not meeting her eyes. He fumbled a bit with the buckle and willed his fingers to calm. Finally belted, he looked up and sighed at her. “You can yell at me all you want after we’re done here. I know what I did and I don’t expect any forgiveness. I’m surprised he even agreed to take this job.”

But Naevia only gave him sympathetic tsk. “I'm not going to yell at you. He… rebounded and he looked good after a while, you know? And for a long time I really wanted to punch you in the face, that helped too,” she said. “You just- you really fucking _hurt_ him, Agron. And for what?”

“For nothing,” Agron said glumly. “Fuck, I shouldn’t have taken this job. I wasn’t even going to do it. Duro talked me into it.”

“Was it really that hard for him to talk you into it, though?” Naevia asked with a sad smile. “I saw the way you and Nasir both looked at each other just now. I guess I don't understand any of this. He wasn’t sure he could do the job either, you know.”

That gave Agron pause. “Really? You think-?”

Naevia cocked her head and shot him a Look. “What, that he still loves you? That he’d take you back?” she asked archly.

Agron deflated. Who was he kidding? “Yeah, no. I guess not,” he said. “I wouldn’t want him to go back to an idiot ragebeast who can’t control his fucking jealousy either.” 

“You're a moron."

"That was never up for debate."

Naevia snorted and turned away. "Well, at least you were a good friend to him, I’ll give you that much,” she said, picking at her shirt sleeve. “Maybe in time you guys can get back there again.”

But Agron shook his head. “No, I don’t think so,” he said. “I just… I can’t. I can’t be around him and fight the feelings that I have for him, that I’ll always have for him. It’s too hard.” He thought for a moment. “Maybe… maybe if I don’t see him for a few years. Like a decade, or something. Maybe he’ll find someone who deserves him and can make him happy and then it’ll finally fucking sink in that we won’t ever be together again and then I can get over him. But that’s not happening anytime soon. I’m sorry.”

“Oh my god, you fucking-” Naevia clenched her hands into fists and actually gave a little high-pitched growl. “You’re such an asshole, you know that? An idiot, and an _asshole_.”

“I know!” Agron said, aggrieved. “What’ve we been talking about for the last ten minutes?”

“What?” Naevia checked her watch. “Shit.”

Suddenly a woman’s light voice called out, “Naevia?” as Duro bellowed at the same time, “Oi, Agron! Get over here!”

“Shit shit shit. Okay, the shirt we’re leaving untucked anyway so that’ll hide the belt. Quick - try the jacket? Oh, that’s nice, that’s a good fit.” Naevia handed Agron’s clothes back and pointed to the end of the bar. “All right, take everything off and go find Diona.” She turned to face him and poked him in the chest. "Don't think we're finished talking about this, Agron."

Agron sighed. Of course not.

It was a whirlwind of activity for the next half hour. Obviously Duro had gotten to Diona first, and as they had worked together before, there was much flirting on his end and much eye rolling and laughing on hers before she finally declared him done. Agron hadn’t worked with Diona at all, but it was apparent that she knew about his past with Nasir.

“Your skin is very dry in a few places,” she said, dabbing on more moisturizer. “And if you don’t do something about the bags under your eyes they’re just going to get worse as you age.”

“Thanks,” Agron said dryly. “I’ll get right on that.”

“I’m not joking,” Diona insisted. “You probably only have, what? Five more years of camerawork left? You-”

“Diona, my goddess,” Duro said, sweeping into her space. “Agron gets gigs _because_ he’s a sour old fart. He insulted Anna Wintour _to her fucking face_ and she just laughed it off and kept talking to him.”

“It wasn’t that bad.”

“You asked her if she was the editor of Cosmo!”

Diona looked puzzled. “Joanna Coles?”

“No!” Duro cackled. “He totally meant Helen Gurley Brown! You know, the one who’s been dead _for years_?”

Agron shrugged. “Eh, Anna probably liked the fact that I made her feel tiny standing next to me. It was either that or she wanted to fuck me. Take your pick.”

Diona actually snickered and stared at Agron as if seeing him for the first time. “Oh my god, did you? I mean, did you and Anna Wintour, you know- ?”

“No!” Agron said, taken aback. “What? NO. First of all, she’s missing a couple of key elements-”

Duro leaned over to Diona, staged whispered, “Cock and balls,” and winked, making her titter again.

“Thank _you_ , brother. And besides, I was with Nasir and why would I… ” he trailed off, awkward and pained. “Yeah. Anyway…”

Duro scowled and cursed under his breath. “Come on,” he said, jumping out of his chair. “They’re calling for us.”

The brothers, with Diona trailing behind them, reached the area that stood as the actual set. The hotel’s famous Teddy’s Bar was cavernous, in that the ceilings made the space look more like Roman catacombs and not a hip, modern lounge. Nasir had taken advantage of the architecture and had only turned on the bar’s normal lighting, and Agron approved; the shadows and colors of the rich leather and the orange lights under the bar’s seating area gave it a unique feel that complimented the clothes.

Nasir and the rest of his team were waiting by a couch along the wall. “Duro, Agron. You both look great.” He turned and smiled at Diona and Naevia, who were standing side by side. “Excellent job, ladies.”

“Uh, we didn’t need _that_ much help to look pretty,” Duro said in mock affront.

Nasir laughed. “No, I guess not.” He indicated to the blonde woman by his side. “I think you remember Chadara, my assistant? And this is our intern and all around superwoman, Sibyl.”

The pretty young woman who had been helping Nasir smiled, but immediately deferred to Chadara, who in turn looked back over to her boss. He nodded, and she clasped her hands together and addressed the group. “Okay, we’re only doing indoor shots during the day here,” she said. “We’re obviously on a deadline and we don’t have too much time to waste so after the dinner break, we’re heading out to the Mondrian to use their pool for the nighttime shots. It closes at 10:30 and we need to let the pool area dry out a bit so the car will pick you up at 10:45.” She checked her phone, quickly swiping through various applications. “We shouldn’t be there too long. You’ll have plenty of time to change and they’ll let us use the facilities. And between me, Sibyl and Nasir we should have the set ready to go by the time you get there.”

“Yes! We can still make our reservation at the Spare Room and hang out until then,” Naevia said, eyes twinkling. “Duro needs to get his ass kicked again.”

“Come at me, babe,” Duro shot back. “I’ll deliver a beatdown so severe you’ll-”

“Duro! Okay, kids, settle down,” Nasir said laughing. “Let’s get started.”

Agron’s heart twisted in his chest. He hadn’t heard that laugh in months. How was he going to get through the next two days?

Nasir clicked his iPod into the docking station and fiddled with the controls. Everything was silent for a few seconds until a soft wave of sound filled the air. Smiling, he picked up his camera and murmured something to Sibyl, who picked up a portable light reflector.

"All right, I want you both over the bar," he said. "Agron, put your back against it. Duro lean on it next to your brother, facing him. Put your arms- yeah. That's good."

As Nasir started shooting, Agron visibly relaxed. They could do this. He would get through this.

But Duro looked more and more antsy. He grumbled under his breath and then called out, “Oh my GOD, Nasir, what is that noise?”

All activity stopped as everyone turned to look at him. Then Nasir chuckled and said, "That’s rich, coming from you. It helps me concentrate. Now shut up and turn your hips- there, good. Thank you. Agron, turn your shoulder toward me- perfect."

Nasir continued to work, moving in and out through the shadows, shooting from a far corner or from the bar itself, occasionally stopping to confer with Sibyl, or with Naevia, who kept a close eye on the proceedings and who darted in and out to pull on a sleeve just so, or to shift the shoulders of Duro’s jacket. Throughout it all the brothers maintained a casual, almost arrogant air as they posed for Nasir’s camera. The three hadn’t worked together in a while but Agron was pleased to know that the collaborative rhythm was still there. They forgot about the camera after a while, even though they still instinctively moved as if they knew where it was all the time.

But after tolerating several more put upon sighs from his brother, Agron finally lost it. "It's Sigur Ros, you dumbass," he muttered. "Just deal with it."

Duro looked up, startled. He grinned. “You a fan?”

Agron shrugged. “Had the best sex of my life to this album,” he replied. He took in Duro’s surprised, wide eyes. Oh. Crap. “Right behind me, huh?” His heart stuttered as he heard a low, amused snort by his left shoulder.

He turned to face Nasir, whose face was a mixture of amusement and something else, something that Agron couldn’t decipher anymore. “Shit. Sorry, I-”

But Nasir shook his head. “Don’t be. I did too.” He physically shook himself and turned to address Duro. “What about the Bad Plus?” he asked. “Do you like modern jazz?”

So Nasir was going to ignore the moment. Ignore _him_. Good idea. Great idea, even. Agron wished for one of those ubiquitous California earthquakes that could swallow him whole. Disappearing would be preferable to whatever was happening now.

Duro had ignored the moment too, which made him the best brother ever. “What about some Bad Brains instead?”

Agron groaned. “Duro, that’s just fast noise.”

“That’s hilarious coming from Mr. 'Metallica is Legit Dinner Music for a date,’ bro.”

Nasir _hmm’d_ and smiled, the light not reaching his eyes. “Only you would play Metallica on a date, Agron.”

“Not me,” Agron protested quickly. “I mean I did suggest it, but that wasn’t for me. Duro was in his Thai phase after that shoot he did in Phuket. He had a date coming over so he asked me what music choices went with curry.”

“ _Ride the Lightning_ ,” Duro said, shaking his head. “That’s what he came up with.”

Nasir’s smile was real and bright this time. “And that’s what you get for asking your brother.” He stretched and yawned, showing a tantalizing sliver of skin above the waistband of his jeans. Rolling his shoulders, he checked his watch. “Okay everyone,” he called out. “I think we should break for lunch now. I want to set up in a few different spots this afternoon and we should do a wardrobe change.” Turning to Naevia and to Sibyl, his ever present shadows, he added, “I’m thinking about setting up by that booth with the red lights near the end of the bar over there, and some standing shots by the columns. What are your thoughts?”

The three continued their discussion as Duro and Agron changed back to their regular clothes and Diona started wiping off what little makeup she had applied. Naevia finally walked up to them as Duro finished tying up his boots. “You guys planning to stay in or head out somewhere?”

“You have any suggestions?” Duro asked. “How much time do we have?”

Naevia waved her hand airily. “We have time, don’t worry. Should we just walk down Hollywood and stop if we find anything interesting?”

“Sounds good,” Duro agreed. “I gotta go wash my face though, it feels gross. Coming, brother?”

Agron, who’d been watching Nasir talking to Sibyl and Chadara, nodded. “Yeah? I mean, sure. Whatever.”

Plans made, they moved to head for the exit. Sibyl and Chadara stayed behind, as they were staying to watch the set, but out of the corner of his eye Agron saw Nasir moving quickly toward them. He slowed and allowed the rest of the group to leave the bar before he turned back.

“You coming with us?” he asked. “Or can we bring something back for you and the girls?”

Nasir shook his head. “Thank you, but Chadara’s calling for food right now,” he said. “I… I was wondering. Maybe we could go somewhere? Alone?” At the look on Agron’s face he quickly added, “I mean, I think we’ve been handling this pretty well, you and I, but we haven’t had the chance to really talk or anything, and-”

And this was it. This was the moment. He and Nasir could clear the air between them; Agron could grovel, maybe beg Nasir to take him back, could take the steps to repair his self-inflicted broken heart. Or maybe it would stay broken, if Nasir confirmed that he never wanted to be with Agron again. 

Never let it be said that Agron was a coward, but he couldn’t do this right now. He was still desperately in love, and he had ruined it, and he deserved to let it lay in rubble.

“Nasir, I don’t think-” he started.

But Nasir was the other half of Agron’s soul for a very good reason. His eyes narrowed as he pushed forward. “Well I _know_ ,” he said. “I know that this has been the longest eight months of my life, and I know that you _owe me_ some kind of explanation of why you walked away and stayed away and wouldn’t fight for us. I know you loved me, and that I loved you, and you’ll tell me why, Agron. _You will tell me why_.”

“Now?” Agron asked, the despair at the thought of _he **loved** me_ warring with the growing anger when he’d been effectively cornered. Anger won. “You really want to do this now? You want to hear that I’m a jealous dumbfuck who couldn’t handle it when you enjoyed the attention from other guys? Because that’s what it boils down to.” He ran his fingers through his hair, making it stick up in crazy angles. Fuck it. “I know, too. I know that I accused you, wrongly, of sleeping with a guy so I broke up with you, and then you went and _slept with him_.”

Nasir’s sharp intake of breath was just another dagger in Agron’s heart. He had done this to them, he had done this to himself.

“Look, I don’t blame you at all,” he said. “It’s not-”

“I figured if you were going to accuse me of cheating and use that as a flimsy excuse to leave, I might as well do the deed,” Nasir said, small and miserable. “We actually dated, you know? We lasted about two months. And I still see him at work when I’m in Paris, and it doesn’t hurt at all. We’re still pretty good friends, actually. I guess it helps if you didn’t care about the relationship.” He looked up and stared hard into Agron’s eyes. “And yet, it feels like I get punched in the chest every time I see a fucking picture of _Duro_ in some magazine, because he’s the beloved brother of the man I was so in love with. The man who left me.” He turned toward the exit. “I guess you were right after all,” he said, walking away. “Lunch together alone would be a bad idea.”

Agron watched Nasir until the bar doors closed shut. _A bullet to the heart would hurt less right now_ , he thought.


End file.
